Nimptopsical
by headtrip parade
Summary: Rayna has a few too many and the tables completely turn. Oneshot.


**Not surprisingly, I had probably had a few too many when I decided this would be a good idea. While writing it I decided that I would very much like to see something similar on the show, not to be insensitive to Deacon but only because it's funny. :) I got a little more "adult" in this one that I normally do, but nothing too disturbing. Thanks to Shiny Jewel for the encouragement and the beta. Enjoy! **

* * *

"Why?"

Rayna propped her chin in her hand, her elbow unsteadily scooting back and forth across the table as it struggled underneath the weight. Her hair hung over her face in a tangled mess of waves and her smeared mascara hid coyly behind it, clumping in all of the wrong places around her eyes.

"Why what?" Juliette asked, swaying slightly as she stood to answer the insatiable pounding on her front door.

Rayna closed her eyes and dropped her voice to a mere whisper.

"Why is the room _spinning_?"

Juliette shrugged.

"Maybe you're on a carousel."

Rayna groaned and laid her head on the table, knocking over the shot glass that had been in front of her for the better part of the last three hours. The remnants of unfinished Ketel One flowed slowly down the sleek, white piece of furniture, soaking loose tendrils of her hair.

She made no attempt to move, only groaning again.

"Too fast, too fast…"

Juliette ignored her as she stumbled down the hallway, propping her hand against the wall to steady herself as she unlocked the deadbolt and swung the door wide open.

She grinned sloppily at the sight in front of her: Deacon Claybourne, clad in plaid and absolutely fuming.

"There you are."

"What the hell, Juliette?"

He stepped inside just enough for her to close the door behind him.

"We…" She giggled slightly. "We were just writing."

He rolled his eyes and pushed past her.

"Yeah, and I was just sleeping."

"Oh, come on. Like she never had to get out of bed to come and drag you home before."

He stopped in his tracks and turned around, a healthy cocktail of fury and stinging sadness raging wildly in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but silence was all he managed to get out.

Juliette drunkenly waved him off.

"Call it paying it forward. Don't be such a stick in the mud."

He shook his head in confusion. Rayna had left around five that afternoon for Juliette's, mumbling something about writing a song for some benefit CD as she rushed out the door. He figured the session had been going well until the drunken phone call came at midnight, with Juliette slurring her request that he come pick Rayna up while Rayna sexually propositioned him in the background.

"She back there?"

Juliette extended her arm.

"Passed out on the table."

Deacon rolled his eyes and turned on his heel, walking quickly to the dining room.

Had he not been so annoyed at both his fiancé and her host, he probably would have laughed. It appeared to him as if Rayna had done a full on face plant into the table while her arms dangled limply at her sides. Her mouth was wide open and she was almost snoring.

"How damn much did y'all drink?"

Juliette looked down at her feet like a scolded school girl and pointed to the bottle on the table, which held maybe a quarter of its capacity.

"That maybe used to be full."

Deacon rolled his eyes for a second time in a 60 second span and placed his hands on Rayna's back, rubbing softly.

"Ray? _Ray?_"

Rayna's head shot up with a jolt. She looked from side to side before her eyes finally, half opened, focused on him. She smiled crookedly.

"Hi."

He grinned back, doing a fine job at hiding the simple appeasement in his smirk.

"Hey, gorgeous."

"Are you on the carousel, too?"

He nodded and placed his hands underneath her arms in an attempt to help her up. He grunted when he realized she was mostly dead weight.

"Yeah, I am definitely on the carousel."

He struggled to get Rayna to her feet, taking a good five minutes to get her standing and halfway walking enough that he could get her to the door. Rayna rambled almost incoherently the whole time about carnivals and spinning while Juliette, intoxicated in her own right, remained silent and stumbled over herself to keep up with Deacon.

Rayna glanced backwards as the approached the door, catching a glance of her co-writer.

"Hey, wait," she slurred, bringing her foot down heavy on Deacon's. He sighed heavily in frustration. "We didn't finish our song!"

Juliette said nothing, only blinked as her eyelids became visibly heavier.

Deacon forged ahead through the door, picking his partner up so she was practically over his shoulder.

"You will, darlin'. Just not tonight."

"And I don't mean like you two finished a song."

Horrified, Deacon looked over at Juliette, who did nothing but meet his gaze with a drunken smirk. He brought his eyes to Rayna's, feigning a hurt face.

"Was that necessary?"

She raised her eyebrow and pursed her lips, bringing her forehead to his. He tried his damnedest to turn his face away, as he could smell the vodka on her breath so acutely she might as well have drank a gallon of rubbing alcohol.

"You tell me."

He turned around at the sound of the door slamming shut behind them, surmising Juliette had just had enough in her inebriated state.

He rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time that night, cursing and muttering statements under his breath to the effect of, "Thanks for nothing, Juliette."

Rayna found herself in a fit of perpetual giggles and hiccups as Deacon heatedly placed her into his truck and slammed the door. She was inarguably oblivious to the force with which he had shut it.

They remained that way for a few miles as he put the pedal to the metal; he exasperated, she giggly and unaware. It wasn't until they came to the red light at Granny White and Woodmont that the tables turned.

"Babe?"

She turned to face him with her head flat against the headrest; her eyelids drooping ever so slightly and her hands limply resting in her lap.

"Hmm?"

He kept his eyes straight ahead on the light, all the while silently begging it to change so they could get the hell home and he could get her to bed.

"I wanna have your babies."

He pursed his lips, trying not to laugh or explode, honestly wanting to do a little of both.

He was also quite confused as to whether or not she had actually said what he thought she said, given how slurred her speech was becoming.

"You already did."

"Yeah, but again. Let's do it again."

He sighed, lifting his eyes to the heavens and whispering thanks to God when the light finally changed. He made the left onto Granny White and pressed the gas a little harder.

_Only ten more minutes…_

"Babe! I'm talking to you!"

She suddenly came up with enough energy to smack him in the shoulder.

"Damn it, Ray," he barked. "What the hell?"

"I said babies."

Rayna had done well not to get absolutely fucking plastered around him since he'd been in recovery, but he still had a vague memory of the best option being not to argue with her when she was. In fact, it was coming back to him just how utterly important it was to simply indulge her.

He sighed again.

"Why?"

"'Cause they're fun to make. So much fun…" She trailed off and gave him the best bedroom eyes she could muster. All he could see was one eye sloping to the point of almost closing and one eye almost staring in another direction. He smirked.

He had nicknamed her "Cross-Eyed Cricket" when she was 19 for a reason.

He gazed out to the road, making a mental note to himself that they were approaching the crash site. He drove this road at least every other day, but it was a slow wound to heal despite how far they'd both come.

"Mmm…" She moaned slightly and took off her seatbelt before he barely had time to blink. He swerved a bit as she drunkenly began kissing the unsexiest part of his arm and fumbling with his belt to no avail. She didn't even have the dexterity to hold a baseball bat with both hands.

His eyes were wide as he tried to process the idea that barely a year and a half ago, they were screaming at each other and almost died at this spot and now she was annihilated and apparently attempting to perform oral sex. _Oh, how the times had changed._

"Rayna! Jesus! Are you trying to kill us?"

She giggled and tried scooting over the center console, running one hand up and down his arm and placing the other directly on the crotch of his jeans. She then buried her face in his neck and began suckling softly.

Deacon sighed heavily and pulled the truck over to the side of the road. He threw it in park and rubbed his temple, trying admirably to ignore her.

"Ray, come on. This isn't gonna happen."

She giggled again, this time a little more sultry than the last, and began running her hands furiously over every part of his body, paying special attention to everywhere below his belt.

"Why did you stop?"

He sighed again in frustration and gripped the steering wheel tightly.

"'Cause you need to get a fucking grip. You made me almost run us off the road back there."

"Oops…"

She brought her finger to her lips and slurred something about being quiet before slowly lowering her head to his lap, her hands fumbling clumsily for his belt buckle once more.

He felt his face going hot and his knuckles going white as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

_She's wasted, you bastard..._

He was so perturbed with her he couldn't see straight. She was completely and utterly shitfaced and could barely walk. If this were anyone but Rayna, she would be beyond unattractive in this situation. He also knew there were probably laws against a sober man engaging in any kind of relations with someone of her state.

…_but God, that mouth._

He tried to no avail to push her away; to throw her back into the passenger seat and finish getting her home and up to bed. At least, that's what he told himself. In reality, his hands were still on the steering wheel as he attempted to hold his breath.

He knew it was slightly on the inappropriate side, just as well as he knew that he was still irritated. But, he also knew he was a male human being with his beautiful fiancé running her hands over him in waves and brushing her stunning hair over him like a blanket while she kissed him everywhere she could lift her head to.

He found himself involuntarily breathing heavier as she finally, miraculously, unhooked his belt and unbuttoned his jeans.

He drew in a sharp breath and grunted slightly as she exposed him, immediately covering him with her mouth.

_Deacon, you are shit._

Rayna wildly explored him with her tongue, bobbing her mouth along the length of him faster and faster.

_Oh, fuck it._

He moved his right hand from the steering wheel to her head, gripping her hair. It was tangled, sure, but it was beautiful. Hell, everything about her was radiant, even when she was half a bottle of vodka in.

He stifled a moan and leaned his head against the headrest, staring at the ceiling.

"God, Ray."

She moaned a bit, stopping both her hands on his arms while her head crashed down on him wildly.

"Yeah," he muttered quietly, failing to immediately notice the change in her pattern. "Yeah…"

He licked his lips and looked down, immediately in time for her to abruptly raise her head from him.

Immense fear and realization coursed through his veins, as he had seen this look on her face many times before and was acutely aware of the damage it could bring.

He shook his head, struggling to untangle his hand from her hair and reach for the door handle.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no…"

By another miracle that night, he managed to get the truck door open just in time for Rayna to hang her head out and vomit everywhere. She coughed and spit and sounded multiple times like she was trying to talk, but Vesuvius just kept on erupting.

Deacon sighed for the umpteenth time and gripped one hand white knuckle tight on the steering wheel, while the other familiarly coursed through Rayna's hair and held it back as she expelled everything in her stomach and then some on the side of Granny White Pike.

_Buzzkill._

* * *

Rayna's eyes fluttered open, allowing the painfully bright sunlight to creep in.

It took her a few seconds, but she eventually came to make out the familiar surroundings. Her dresser, her TV, the abstract paintings that replaced the ones of the girls when Deacon adamantly suggested they hang somewhere other than the bedroom… everything was where it was supposed to be.

She squinted as she raised her head but an inch, taking note of the bottled water and two Advil capsules that had obviously been purposely placed on her nightstand. She didn't even have to look in the floor next to her; she knew there was a wastebasket ready to catch whatever she had to throw.

He was all too good at taking care of her.

Within seconds of opening her eyes, the pounding reigned terror on her head and her hands began trembling. Her mouth was as dry as cotton in a microwave, yet she couldn't bring herself to make the effort to reach for the water, open it, and drink.

She groaned and placed her head back on the pillow, turning to the other side. Feeling his gaze on her, she opened her eyes and squinted once more.

His grin reflected a road somewhere between amusement and feeling sorry for her.

"Morning, gorgeous."

She closed her eyes again and pressed her palm to her forehead.

"Can't you close the blinds or something?"

He smirked, running his finger delicately over the smooth skin of her shoulder.

"We don't have blinds, darlin'."

"Why not?"

"Because you insisted on some 'airy curtains' to let the natural light in."

Rayna groaned again, bringing the covers up over her face. Deacon just laughed.

"What the hell did I do?"

He laughed again and brought the covers down from her face, placing a quick kiss on her nose.

"Before or after you tried to go down on me while I drove?"

Her eyes widened at first with shock, but that quickly melted into embarrassment. She slammed them shut again and made every attempt to go back to hiding under the covers.

"Oh, God."

"You and Juliette definitely had a time of it." He smirked and brought his gaze to the ceiling. "Did your best to give me a time of it, too."

She used what little energy she had to smack him on the shoulder before resting her hand on his chest.

"Shut up," she mumbled from beneath the down comforter. "Like you didn't enjoy it."

"Your gag reflex has definitely gotten worse with age."

She smacked him again, this time throwing the blankets down and allowing him to see the smirk playing from behind her feigned ire.

He rolled onto his back and lifted his arm for her to rest her head on his chest. She closed her eyes again, trying her damnedest to push out the throbbing in her head and simply bask in the fact that this—being wrapped in Deacon's arms—was her reality every morning for the rest of her life.

Perhaps it was hitting too close to home for him because of his own issues, but even the way he cared for her when she was hung over was blissful. It remained to be seen, but she was sure that if she asked, he'd be tending to her well past the morning and into the afternoon.

She grinned, squinting up at him with one eye.

"Hey, you know what you can do for me?"

"What's that?"

She opened her other eye and slowly brought her face to his, gently brushing her lips across his lips.

"There was an article in Cosmo last week about hangover remedies… I can think of a couple I'd like to try."


End file.
